Maps
by buhluesky
Summary: After an incident, the werewolves tell their human counterparts they can't be pack anymore. That doesn't go particularly well and the humans end up leaving town. Interesting times ensue. No ships as of yet except for Lydia/Independence and Stiles/Happiness/Allison.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is just a bit of fun to fill the hiatus. No definite pairings yet, just Stiles/Happiness/Allison and Lydia/Independence. That could change, though. Title came from the Yeah Yeah Yeah's song. **

* * *

The pack would've liked to say that it was a horrible misunderstanding. But it wasn't, not really.

During their last year of high school everyone (somewhat) got their shit together and combined into one big pack. It actually turned out great for Scott. All the people he liked in a room together with no one trying to kill each other.

It took a while for the teens to warm up to one another, but they did. They all remembered the day Lydia approached Erica in school and said, "Allison and I are going shopping tonight. We'll pick you up at five. Try not to dress like a stripper." She then turned and flounced away, leaving Erica staring after her with her mouth hanging open. Isaac had actually snapped a picture, remarking that it was the only time he'd ever seen her left speechless.

Another memorable afternoon Scott, Stiles, Jackson, and Danny all gathered in Scott's house to break the whole 'werewolf' thing to Danny. He had stared at them all for a second, put his head in his hands and murmured, "I'm surrounded by _assholes_."

Stiles patted him delicately on the shoulder. "Tell me about it."

Stiles and Danny had been pretty good friends after that.

Scott and Allison never did get back together but Allison hung around them all the time anyway, giggling with Lydia and Erica or teasing Stiles. She and the other human members of the pack would often find themselves sprawled out across the front of Stiles jeep, gleefully watching the werewolves beat the shit out of each other.

Derek and Peter stopped attempting to murder one another. Lydia never got Erica to stop dressing like a stripper, but never stopped trying. Jackson learned how to smile. Isaac learned how to laugh. Erica and Boyd were disgustingly cute together. It came out that Lydia was actually insanely smart, and Allison wanted to eventually join the Peace Corps, and Stiles had a voice like honey and a talent for playing instruments. They discovered that the only way to get Jackson up in the morning without violence was bringing a white chocolate mocha as an offering. Scott got Isaac a job at the vet and the two developed a truly epic friendship. Lydia, Stiles, Allison, and Peter would get into debates over foreign politics that went for days. Stiles and Scott actually came home once to Derek and the Sheriff watching football on the couch together. Things were good for a while.

And then they weren't.

Five days after graduation (a merry affair that involved many group hugs that turned into dog piles, Lydia giving a stellar valedictorian speech that brought many to tears, and Scott grinning uncontrollably the entire day at the fact that he was even _graduating_) another pack moved into Beacon Hills. They were, of course, pursued by a rather large group of rogue hunters. God forbid anything ever be easy.

That particular altercation ended with Scott, Isaac, and Boyd all laid up in the vet's office, riddled with wolfsbane bullet holes. Even worse, Danny actually got _stabbed._ Derek and Peter called an impromptu meeting with Allison, Lydia, and Stiles later that night.

"We were going to do this gradually," Derek told them. "But it's gone too far. Someone's going to get killed." He looked at them with a blank face, jaw set.

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Lydia's high voice trembled. "I really can't deal with your _shit_ today, you're going to have to-"

"You can't be pack anymore." Erica tried to seem unaffected, but her voice trembled, too.

Allison let out a choked "what?"

_"Are you kidding?"_ Stiles voice rose incredulously. "After _everything_? You can't just-"Jackson cut him off with a snarl.

"Can, and will. Get the fuck out, Stilinski." The humans stared, aghast. Jackson hadn't called anyone by their last name in months, not even Scott. No one moved until Derek let out a pissed off growl. Lydia strode out of the old train car without looking back, Stiles following with his head down. Allison sent the werewolves a single teary-eyed glance.

"This is a terrible idea," Peter said softly, not for the first time.

Derek snarled at him. "I know what I'm doing."

Peter didn't even dignify that with a response.

* * *

Two days later found Lydia, Allison, and Stiles at Casa del Argent, curled up against each other in the den, drinking coffee out of patterned mugs.

"I've just received my acceptance to Yale's summer session," Lydia said stiffly after a while. "And I feel guilty, of course I do, but it's something I've wanted to do and I refuse to stay here, thrown out like trash-"

Stiles smiled at her, placing a hand on her arm. "Lydia, hey, slow down. Congratulations."

"I got a scholarship," Lydia informed them.

"Of course you did, smarty-pants," Allison teased.

Lydia softened and smiled back at them. "Thank you." She said in a small voice.

"Dad and I agreed we needed a vacation," Allison remarked after a pause. "We were going to do two weeks in Europe. I wonder if he would have a problem with extending that a tiny bit." She cuddled into Stiles' shoulder and fixed her dark eyes on him. "Stiles, you had better come."

"Um, I guess I could, maybe, if you want." Stiles stuttered out, taken by surprise. "I mean, what about Danny?"

Lydia sniffled, resting her head on Stiles' other shoulder. "Getting sent to his aunt's house in Hawaii to 'keep him out of trouble'. He's leaving as soon as he's discharged from the hospital."

Stiles barked a laugh, snuggling back into the furry throw on the Argent's couch. "I guess we're all getting out of dodge, then."

"Bet you those hairy bastards will miss us when we're gone," Lydia spat.

Allison let out a tiny giggle. "They won't last a week without us."

"They're gonna have to." Stiles snorted, sipping his coffee.

"You guys will come visit me at Yale?" Lydia whispered, leaning further into Stiles.

"Of course," Allison murmured, Stiles nodding in agreement.

"Promise?" Lydia's voice got even smaller.

"Swear. After we do Europe, of course," Stiles grin was infectious. Allison whooped loudly, downing the rest of her coffee and springing off the couch.

"Okay, sulking over. We need to start packing."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Some things are probably unrealistic, like international texting rates, but...Just go with it.**

* * *

Five days after the original plans were put in motion, Sheriff Stilinski found himself zipping his son's suitcase closed while the boy in question sat on top of it. "You sure you got everything?" He asked for the third time. Stiles merely grinned, springing to his feet and placing his hands on the Sheriff's shoulders.

"For the last time, yes. I'll be fine, Dad. Nothing could possibly go wrong with Mr. Argent around."

"True," The Sheriff admitted. "I'm just going to miss you around here."

"Yeah, but then you'll start to enjoy the peace and quiet," Stiles joked, lifting his suitcase and carrying it down the stairs.

"Let me know what you're up to once in a while, will you?"

Stiles nodded enthusiastically. "Allison's got this new camera, it's awesome. We'll be taking a ton of videos and pictures, I'll make sure to e-mail them to you." He heaved a dramatic sigh. "If only you would get a facebook."

The Sheriff wrinkled his nose, following Stiles out onto the porch. "Yeah, I don't fancy trying to figure out the facebook."

Stiles laughed, embracing his dad and clapping on the back. "Someday, old man."

"Not so old," The Sheriff protested, squeezing his only son tight. He smiled when the kid started squirming. Some things never changed. Stiles not being able to stay still would always be one of them. He didn't envy Allison and Chris having to sit next to him on the plane. "You say goodbye to Scott?"

Stiles bit his lip. "We're not exactly on speaking terms."

The Sheriff raised his eyebrows. "Why, because you're hanging around his ex-girlfriend?"

Stiles sighed, shaking his head. "No. It's complicated."

The Sheriff scoffed. Things were always complicated with teenagers. "What am I supposed to say to him when he comes around?"

"He won't." Stiles said quietly. "Here, help me get this stuff in the car."

* * *

Stiles spent most of the lengthy flight to Ireland sleeping or talking business with Allison and Chris, who were delighted that Stiles was knowledgeable about guns and had been going to the shooting range with his father for years. Chris was surprised to find that Stiles had a good head for business and actually spent three hours going through a contract Chris had been working on, pointing out deficiencies and suggesting ways for the Argents to get a better deal.

"Why were you dating Scott again?" Chris asked Allison blatantly. She stuck her tongue out at him. Stiles smothered a laugh.

When their flight finally landed, Chris herded both of the kids to the baggage claim and then into a taxi, managing to stay awake and coherent until they reached the small inn they would be staying at. He collapsed onto one bed, Stiles and Allison onto the other.

The next thing Stiles knew the morning sun was coming through the blinds and something heavy was on his stomach. That something turned out to be Allison, who was settled on his stomach with a plate of bacon, sausages, and eggs.

"I love you," Stiles told her when she handed him the plate and a fork.

Chris Argent snorted from the bathroom, somehow managing to look intimidating while half of his face was covered in shaving cream.

"Better hurry up, Stiles," Allison sing-songed, getting up and dancing across the room to her suitcase. "It's a beautiful Irish day and I intend to take full advantage of it."

* * *

Later that day Sheriff Stilinski, Danny Mahealani, and Lydia Martin all received the same picture of Stiles and Allison, grinning and soaked, in matching wetsuits with surfboards tucked under their arms.

**From: Stiles**

**Portstewart, Ireland! Exhilarating! Miss u guys! x**

The Sheriff got the message on his lunch break, sitting in a diner on Main Street. He laughed. "What is it?" Schmidt said curiously next to him.

"Picture of my kid," The Sheriff said happily, leaning over to show him the picture.

Danny got the message once he turned his phone back on, hobbling off the plane. He sent back** 'Man u just wait til I heal up and show u what a real wave looks like! U have nothing on my surfing skills'** He grinned for the first time since he was put in the hospital and pocketed his phone, setting off for the baggage claim with new determination.

Lydia got the message while pacing her bedroom, hyperventilating. She would rather die than admit it, but she was scared of going to Connecticut by herself. What if she didn't get the classes? What if the boys were ugly?

She stared at the picture for a solid minute before a smile curled over her face. She took a deep breath and looked in the mirror, pulling the classic Lydia Martin bitch face. Jesus Christ, what was she worrying for? If the boys were ugly she wouldn't bother with them, and there probably wasn't a class in existence that she wouldn't pass.

Lydia sent back** 'The wetsuits a great look for you. Much better than hobo flannel xx'** Then went back to packing. There was no way Lydia Martin would hide at home like a scared little girl while her friends were having the time of their lives in far away places.

* * *

Allison and Stiles collapsed back on the bed after a long day of surfing, windsurfing, and wakeboarding. "I'll never move again," Stiles declared.

Chris chuckled, looking down at them. "Sure you won't. I'm going down to the pub, at least attempt to stay out of trouble." Allison made a face that he ignored, shaking his head as he left.

Stiles checked his phone and made a wounded sound. "What?" Allison laughed.

"Danny's challenging my surfing prowess and Lydia called me a hobo."

Allison burst into giggles, trying to muffle them into a pillow when Stiles glared at her. He grabbed the pillow and beat her with it. "Rude!"

"We've got some great friends," She said jokingly. Stiles scoffed.

"Oh, yeah." He flopped down on the bed next to her. "Ten bucks Team Sourwolf hasn't even realized we're gone."

"I am not taking that bet." Allison snorted. "Now come on, I'm starving. That little place down the street is supposed to be amazing."

"Awesome, food!" Stiles flailed off of the bed, crashing to the floor and reaching for his shoes. Allison rolled her eyes.

"Come on, spaz."

"Rude."

* * *

Stiles was right. Scott didn't come around, it was the Lahey boy, Isaac. He fidgeted under the Sheriff's gaze, hands shoved into his pockets. "You seen Stiles?"

No harm in telling the truth, he figured. "Sorry, son. Stiles and Allison went abroad. Some Europe trip with her father."

The kid's eyes went from 'slightly nervous' to 'deer in headlights'._ "When?"_ His voice cracked.

"Just a couple days ago." The boy looked like he was abut to be sick. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, fine." He said lightly. The Lahey kid was a good liar. That figured. "Do you know when they'll be coming back?"

The Sheriff shrugged. "They're staying for as long as they need to, I guess. Relaxation and all that."

The kid looked even more devastated. "See you around, sir." He turned and ran off.

The Sheriff shook his head as he shut the door. Teenagers. Everything always so complicated.

* * *

"You already go begging Stilinski for forgiveness?" Jackson sneered at Isaac when he came running into the Hale house.

Isaac gave him his best bitch face. "Yeah, I tried," He said sarcastically. "Except he's gone. He and Allison are apparently in Europe, _with Argent_."

There was a pause as the entire pack stared at him, then erupted into noise. In the middle of it all was Derek, his face contorted in irritation. He looked like the angry Jigglypuff thing from that show Isaac watched as a kid.

"What did you think was going to happen?" Peter asked, shaking his head at them from his place by the doorway.

"I kind of assumed they would all sit around and wallow in despair for a while," Erica admitted. Boyd nodded sheepishly.

"I didn't think they would just_ run away_," Scott said angrily.

"Run away from what, exactly?" Peter asked dryly.

"Shut up," Scott growled, eyes flashing amber. Peter regarded him dully.

"It doesn't matter if they're here or not," Derek said finally, giving them all a sharp glare. "Either way they won't be around. Stay focused."

"If they were around, they'd get hurt like Danny, or worse." Jackson told Scott, trying to seem angry. "They're useless. Weak."

_"How could you say that about your best friends?"_ Scott yelled, claws coming out. Derek sighed. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

The next day Danny sent Stiles a picture of his aunt's villa. It was gorgeous beach front property surrounded by a beautiful tropical landscape. It was almost unreal.

**To: Stiles**

**Bam.**

A half hour later, laying out on the sun porch, catching up with his cousins, Danny's phone buzzed.

The pictured appeared to be taken from on top of a mountain, overlooking a cliff with a hell of a view. Green fields and sparkling blue rivers as far as the eye could see, with the ocean fading off in the distance. Allison was standing on the edge of the cliff, wearing running shoes and a harness, looking happier than hell.

**From: Stiles**

**Rock climbing. BAM.**

Danny pouted, slouching down in his lawn chair. Thank god his stitches were coming out in a few days. Being one-upped by Stiles was the worst.

* * *

Connecticut was quaint, and the campus was beautiful. Lydia's dorm was equally quaint, and her roommate equally beautiful, smooth caramel skin with a bright smile and long black hair. "Rosie," She said, grasping Lydia's hand. "God you're pretty."

"Lydia. And you," Lydia smirked. "Are not so bad yourself."

Lydia spent the afternoon roaming the campus with Rosie, and had dinner at a cute little cafe with her and some girl Rosie was friends with.

The other, irrelevant girl took a picture of Rosie and Lydia in front of some gorgeous, irrelevant building. That night, laying wide awake in bed, she reached for her phone.

**From: Lydia**

**To: Stiles, Allison**

**My roommate. Jealous? ;)**

She didn't get a response until the next morning.

**From: Allison**

**If that isn't worth switching teams over, I don't know what is. I mean what? Did I say that?**

Stiles message had a picture attached of a sleeping, stubbly Chris Argent.

**From: Stiles**

**Never. I wake up to this every morning. DILF**

Lydia had to muffle her laughter in a pillow for about five minutes so she wouldn't wake up her roommate. God, her friends were freaks. But she loved them so.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I can't believe anyone read this, let alone reviewed it. You're all wonderful perfect people and I'm in love with you.**

* * *

After covertly snapping the picture of Chris and sending it to Lydia, Stiles was faced with an impossible task: waking up two Argents. He'd already found out that regular tactics didn't work, and yelling in Allison's ear was liable to get him punched in the face. Argents apparently only woke up when they were good and ready. Stiles rocked back on his heels. What to do, what to do...

When it came to him, he let out a maniacal laugh and grabbed his wallet and Allison's camera. "This is gonna be good," He said.

* * *

Danny woke up sometime around noon and situated himself in his aunt's airy living room, sprawled out across a lounge with a smoothie and his laptop. He went on facebook and scrolled through his notifications; mostly get well messages from people that didn't really care. He finally stopped on a different notification.

**'Stiles Stilinski has tagged you in a video._ with 2 others_'**

"Oh god, here we go." Danny murmured.

The video began with the cameraman following a small group of men down a sunshine-lit hallway and into a hotel room that had people still asleep in the beds. The cameraman gave a thumbs up and the men all burst into song. What song, Danny couldn't tell you, because the men were all singing different parts of it, and they were singing very loudly. Danny burst into helpless laughter as a wild-eyed Chris Argent jerked upright in one bed and Allison shrieked and fell right out of the other. Stiles, apparently behind the camera, started laughing as the two sprang to their feet. Chris was staring, speechless, at the drunken choir as Allison began yelling and hurling things at Stiles.

Danny commented "Laughing with stitches hurts, asshole!"

Then he logged off of facebook before he could see one of the pack's statuses, grabbed his car keys, and went to find one of his cousins. Maybe Danny couldn't surf and scale cliffs just yet, but there was still an entire island out there just waiting for him.

Lydia watched the video from a table outside in the sunshine with Rosie looking over her shoulder. "You have crazy friends."

Lydia smiled. "You have no idea."

The first day of classes had gone great, of course, and Lydia was happy to finally be challenged. Even when she'd been in all advanced placement classes in Beacon Hills, school had been a breeze.

"You close with them?" Rosie asked, brown doe eyes curious.

Lydia thought for a second, absently 'liking' Danny's comment. "They're like family to me."

Rosie 'awed', grinning. "Then I want to hear all about them."

Lydia saw one of Scott's statuses, frowned, and shut her laptop, turning to fully address her roommate. "Oh, where do I start.."

* * *

**From: Stiles**

**To: Dad**

**On our way to Dublin. Woke Allison & Chris up with drunk guys singing the Dropkick Murphys. Miss u. Stop eating McDonlds I hve people watching you!**

* * *

Jackson stormed into the dimly lit train car much the same way Isaac had days before. "Danny is in Hawaii and Lydia's in freaking Connecticut," He seethed. Peter, Erica, and Isaac payed him no attention from where they were huddled around Peter's laptop. "What are you idiots doing?"

"Allison put up another video," Isaac said distractedly. Jackson stalked towards them and dropped into the seat next to Erica.

The video was a five minute montage of Stiles and Allison playing pool with Argent, drinking in some seedy bar, and running around the streets of Dublin, teasing each other and making faces at the camera. The end included a tipsy Allison drawing a Sharpie mustache on Stiles, muttering "That's what you get, freaking dumb jerk and your dumb drunk choir.."

The video had dozens of likes and underneath Lydia had commented "Making me proud, Allison. I knew you could be vindictive!" With a heart next to it.

Underneath that Danny had commented, "Don't teach her that, it's scary. Bad Lydia." That also had dozens of likes.

Isaac and Erica were staring at the screen in longing. Peter was staring at them in amusement. Jackson said again, "Lydia went to Connecticut."

"To Yale, and Danny to his aunt's house in Hawaii, yes we know." Peter said with his usual sass.

"This sucks." Erica said.

Isaac buried his head in his arms and mumbled, "Pack being that far away doesn't feel good."

Peter hummed. "Yes, that's because you know you're the reason they're gone."

"Fuck that," Jackson muttered, copying Isaac's position.

"What's wrong with them?" Boyd asked, walking in with Derek.

"Well," Peter drawled, leaning back in his chair. "Jackson acts as if he's permanently on his menstrual cycle, Erica seems to be imitating Rita Ora, and Isaac, frankly, I wouldn't know where to start."

None of the teens moved or took offense to what Peter said. Derek glared at his uncle, who sighed. "Danny and Lydia have also left Beacon Hills, and are having the time of their lives without everyone here. They're depressed."

Boyd's face fell, and he trudged over to the table, sinking into the chair beside Erica. Derek glared at them all. Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

"Seeing as they aren't here, it probably wouldn't hurt to try to talk to them," Peter said slowly. All of the teens heads jerked up, even Jackson's. They stared hopefully at Derek.

"Fine," The alpha ground out, looking crankier than usual.

"They aren't going to want to talk to us." Erica pointed out.

The room once again sank into depression. Derek gritted his teeth. Fucking teenagers.

* * *

Allison was leaning against the railing, looking across the water and enjoying the ferry ride when her phone rang. She frowned at the screen, then put the phone to her ear.

"Danny?"

"You will never fucking guess who called me. I can't even believe the nerve, no, yes I can, he's always been a complete and utter douche, even in preschool!"

Allison made a face. "Wait, what? Did Jackson call you?"

"Yes! Douchebag! If I had a time machine I would go back and bribe myself with candy to never befriend him, really, life would be so much easier-"

"Danny." Allison used her scariest voice, the one she normally only pulled out when Scott and Derek got into petty arguments. "What did he say?"

"That Derek was letting them talk to us now, since we're 'out of danger', and that he couldn't believe I was in Hawaii, which is Jackson for he misses me."

Allison bit her lip. "I haven't gotten any phone calls."

"I imagine they're all too scared to call." Danny snorted.

"They should be," Allison smirked. "They might be the werewolves but they know damn well who the really frightening ones are."

Danny chuckled, voice dropping into a conspiring tone. "I think we should send them hints and teases but avoid really talking to any of the assholes until they mutiny against Derek."

"Sounds great," Allison said brightly. "I'll tell Stiles."

"I'll call Lydia. By the way, if you don't pick up at least a dozen hot, foreign boys while you all are there, I'm going to be too embarrassed to acknowledge you in public."

"If you haven't had every cute surfer boy Hawaii has to offer in your bed by the time this gets cleared up, we can't be friends anymore." Allison shot back, imitating his tone.

"Deal."

"Fine!"

* * *

From: Stiles  
To: Lydia

Did you just call me 2 hve like, an evil laugh and then hang up?

From: Lydia

I miss evil-laughing with you in person.

From: Stiles

Me, too.

* * *

The next day the teenagers began their deliberate assault on the werewolves. Scott burst into the train car just before noon, waving his phone wildly.

"Guys! I got a picture message from Allison!"

Everyone stopped what they were doing, even Derek, as Scott started passing around his phone. The picture contained a beaming Allison and Stiles, standing arm in arm in front of the Eiffel Tower. The text underneath read_ 'Sending some love from the city of love! Maybe you don't love us anymore, but we'll always love you xx'_

"Did you text back?" Isaac asked, bambi eyes wide.

Scott shook his head. "I wanted everyone to see it first."

Erica took her phone out, scowling. "Well I don't know about you assholes but I definitely fucking love them. I'm not scared to say so."

Isaac glared at her, fumbling for his phone. "I'm not scared."

Scott was already typing furiously, snarling at his keyboard. "Fuck you guys, I loved both of them before any of you!"

Peter and Boyd watched them bicker, the former looking thoroughly amused and the latter silently drawing out his own cell phone. Derek wordlessly rose to his feet and stalked out of the car, slamming the rusted door.

Peter just smiled.

* * *

**A/N: Okay I wanted to make this longer, but to go on with my silly little story I need a little romance. Review with a ship you think would be good in this story, I need suggestions!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Welcome to Maps, where no one listens to Derek and it sucks to be a werewolf. A big thank you to Alec McDowell, who reviewed with a rather fun idea that worked itself into this chapter.**

**P.S., No ships this chapter because I'm still undecided. I was sure, but then..I've recently gotten very into Stiles/Isaac. A lot of great things written of AO3 by this one lovely author GoddessofBirth. So that might happen.**

* * *

It happened in Paris, the same day Allison made contact with the Pack. She and Stiles had been leisurely making their way down the street, on the way to lunch with Chris, grinning and going over the many text messages from various pack members. One second they'd been cooing over Isaac's existence, the next both teenagers were pulled into an alley and slammed up against a wall.

"You smell like wolf," One of the abductors hissed, her male companion grimly nodding.

"Wow, pushing people up against walls is a werewolf thing," Stiles accidentally said out loud. "I thought it was just a Derek thing." The two strangers gave him a weird look.

"We apologize for smelling like wolf," Allison shifted against the rough brick of the wall, letting out a depressed sigh. "We actually aren't allowed to do wolf things anymore, so we should stop smelling like wolf presently." As her heartbeat calmed down, Allison took notice of their assailants. The man and woman were young and looked incredibly alike, with dark hair, tan complexions, and high cheekbones to rival Jackson's.

"You really aren't afraid of us, are you?" The girl asked curiously. The two humans shrugged.

"What do you mean you 'aren't allowed to do wolf things'?" Her male counterpart also looked more curious than threatening, loosening his grip on Stiles.

"Well, clearly we aren't werewolves, but we run around with werewolves. Or we did, until our-" Stiles paused, letting out a frustrated huff. "Their alpha told us they'd all decided it was too dangerous to have us hanging around."

"The alpha just decided that on a whim?" The man asked suspiciously.

Stiles shrugged again. "Somebody maybe got stabbed."

The werewolf laughed, clapping Stiles on the shoulder and releasing him but not moving back out of his personal space. He grasped Stiles' hand. "I'm Santo, this is Ana."

"Stiles."

"Allison."

Santo had a brilliant smile, all white teeth. "Well Stiles, Allison, how about my sister and I show you a good time and make your little pack come running to get you back?"

Ana giggled, and Allison gave Stiles a scheming smile. "Perfect," Allison said.

* * *

"Lydia sent me a picture," Jackson announced as he entered the pack hideout, looking rather strung out and frazzled. It was quiet and empty except for Scott and Isaac.

"Allison sent me a picture earlier," Scott's words came out jumbled and panicky. "Saying they thought we didn't love them! So we've been texting saying that we love them all day and they won't text_ back_!" Isaac was curled up next to Scott on the ratty sofa Boyd had dragged in months ago, nervously biting his nails. He had calmed down a lot over time, but their packmates missing seemed to have Isaac regressing and turning into the nervous wreck he used to be.

Jackson just frowned and shoved his phone into Scott's hands. The picture was of a chalkboard sign out front of a coffee shop, proclaiming TODAY'S SPECIAL: WHITE CHOCOLATE MOCHAS TO DIE FOR! Underneath Lydia had typed _'Thought of you..'_

Scott groaned and faceplanted on the couch. "This is so stupid!"

Jackson was about to say something, but the door slammed open and Erica stormed into the train car, an agitated Boyd behind her.

"What's up?" Isaac asked, jumping off of the couch as Erica brought her facebook up on Peter's laptop, snarling all the while.

She flashed amber eyes at him and hissed through gritted teeth, "Just look." The three boys crowded around her as she went down to where she had Allison listed as a sister and clicked on her name. The first thing on Allison's profile was a picture of herself and Stiles with two good looking, dark-haired strangers. There was an incredible amount of glare in the picture, even though it appeared to be taken at night. Isaac stiffened. "They're-"

"Wolves, yeah." Boyd growled.

"What the fuck?" Scott yelled. "They won't text us because they've found a new pack, is that it?" He turned and hurled the chair he had been leaning on.

"I thought we were over your anger issues," Derek said irritably, lowering the chair from where it had nearly smacked him in the face.

"The irony of that statement is overwhelming." Peter commented dryly behind him. It earned him yet another glare.

"Stiles and Allison met a new pack in Paris." Isaac said despairingly.

Peter's lips twitched. Derek rolled his eyes. "There are packs all over the place in Europe," He said exasperatedly. "They're not going to hurt them, and they're not going to keep them." He fixed the young wolves with a hard look. "You can't keep stalking them. You all need to remember that your lives are in Beacon Hills."

"I don't know about that," Jackson murmured, sinking into a chair and resting his head on his knees. Isaac leaned against the blue-eyed Beta, heaving a sigh. Next to them, Scott fumed silently. Erica aggressively clicked through her facebook, Boyd resting his head in his arms next to her. Derek flared his nostrils, glowering at his moping pack.

"Pathetic." He growled.

"If anyone here is pathetic, it's you." Scott snapped. "At least we can admit that we want our best friends back while you walk around like nothing's wrong and you don't miss them." Derek didn't say anything, staring at Scott blankly. Scott kicked one of the empty crates littering the floor.

"Goddammit Derek! Look at me and tell me you don't hate when it's quiet and you think of Stiles, sitting on the couch, going on about whatever movie he and Isaac just went to see. Tell me you don't miss Allison's smile or she and Danny fixing breakfast after every full moon because they 'didn't want us passing out in school'." He took a step toward Derek, voice growing louder. "Tell me you don't miss drinking Irish coffee with Lydia, debating mythology for hours. Just because you can. That you don't miss Danny bursting in here every Friday night with concert tickets, Allison teaching Erica and Stiles how to stand on their heads, Lydia tutoring everyone when they fell behind in school."

Scott's eyes stared into Derek's, wide and earnest. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Because I do. I do every day, and I _know_ that you do too."

Derek remained silent, frozen in place with his shoulders high and tense as Scott shuffled past him, staring at his feet. The Alpha stayed that way for a long time before his head snapped up and he cast an empty look around the room. "I'm going for a run," He said gruffly, and fled.

Peter left shortly after, and all the Betas minus Scott piled onto the couch. Isaac was staring intensely at the wall. Boyd nudged him. "What are you doing?"

Isaac shook his head, smiling wryly. "Hoping that if I wish hard enough, Stiles will pop up in the corner with his guitar, singing Ed Sheeran, and Lydia will strut in and tell us that we're going out dancing and she's dressing everyone because God forbid we go dancing in 'hobo clothes'."

That exact situation had happened more times than the werewolves could count. They spent the rest of the afternoon curled up together, buried in memories.

* * *

Alan Deaton only shook his head when Peter finished regaling him with the story of the past few days. "A disaster," He said after a moment. "Ripping apart a pack like that just isn't smart. Anger, depression, jealousy; all possible symptoms of withdrawal. Derek is too angry to even recognize it in himself." He tsked his tongue. Peter groaned and raked his fingers through his hair.

"They're all a_ mess_," He complained. "_I'm_ a mess. _Everything's_ a mess."

The vet looked up from whatever powder he had been grinding up and gave him an amused look. "Well, it sounds like the kids are already regretting their decision. All that's left is Derek."

Peter gave him a flat look, leaning against the vet's examination table with his arms crossed. "Derek was insufferably stubborn even before he became Alpha. At the age of six he sat at the dinner table for over thirty hours because he refused to eat his vegetables and was forbidden to leave the table until he had."

Deaton scoffed. "So appeal to his jealousy, and his rage. Just try to get them back, or at least on speaking terms, as soon as possible. I fear that this Europe trip may have been deliberate."

Peter squinted at the vet, lip curling. "You think Argent-?" His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "God. He took his daughter out of the crossfire while simultaneously weakening and distracting the pack."

Deaton gave him a steady look and didn't answer, continuing to grind up the herbs.

* * *

Danny idly checked his messages, smile playing along his lips as he read the various declarations of love from his makeshift family. He'd been instructed to also begin sending the pack pictures, and starting today he'd have plenty to share with them. The stitches were gone and he'd been given the go ahead on everything and anything his heart desired. He also had a cool scar now, with an insane story attached. That would be great when he was picking up guys at the beach later. (Danny had always been a glass-half-full kind of guy.)

He was dragged out of his thoughts when his phone vibrated for the billionth time that day.

From: Stiles

Met insanely attractive European werewolves. May or may not hve lost Chris. Leaving 4 Ibiza 1st thing in the morning. Ily dude check in when your doing something not boring

Danny grinned, putting his phone back in the pocket of his tightest jeans and looking out the windshield at the neon lights of the club he and his cousins were quickly approaching. This had the potential to be decidedly not-boring.

The next morning he confirmed to himself that it was really, really not-boring, as he woke up naked on the beach with a towel wrapped from just under his hips down to his thighs and a pretty boy's head pillowed on his chest.

Danny then laughed wildly when his cousin sent him the picture she had snapped of him passed out in that position, and he forwarded it to every pack member with the caption _First day with the stitches out. I'd say it went alright. ;) (Fucking eat it, Stiles.)_

He set his phone down next to him and put his hands behind his head, smiling up at the tiffany blue sky. Life was damn good, but the color reminded Danny of a certain werewolf's eyes and he couldn't help but think of how much better it would be if his best friend since his toddler years were lying next to him, staring up at the same sky.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Er, sorry.**

* * *

Boyd's day began very calmly. He woke when the sun shined through his window and decided to go for a long run through the woods. He was steadily making his way down a path about a half-mile from the Hale house when Scott fell in next to him, keeping pace perfectly.

"Surprised you're up," Scott said quietly.

"Haven't been sleeping much lately," Boyd sighed. Scott merely gave him a knowing glance, looking rather tired himself, and wordlessly followed after Boyd when he picked up his pace.

* * *

Chris Argent's day began with a phone call. One of many unpleasant ones he had received over the past year or so. The gist of it was that one of the many teams of sloppy vigilantes that fancied themselves hunters were moving in on Beacon Hills. It was a personal insult to Chris; a hunter moving in on another's domain uninvited was very disrespectful, but it bothered Chris for another reason. Derek Hale's ever-growing pack would be in pieces over losing half of their pack. The little shits would probably wipe out the pack in one cruel blow, disregarding The Code, and be idolized for doing what even Kate Argent couldn't. Chris gritted his teeth. Not happening.

Not far from him, Stiles and Allison's day started in a much different way. The two teens woke completely and suddenly as the airplane they had boarded earlier that day touched down. "We're here," Santo sing-songed to Allison, who began fixing her hair the best she could with Stiles leaning across her to press up against the window.

The hyperactive teen was practically bouncing in his seat. He craned his neck to look over the seats toward the front of the plane "Oh my god, can we go yet?"

Ana groaned quietly. "Does this kid have an off button?"

Santo snickered, but Allison merely watched on fondly. She was glad to see him acting like himself again. She'd been watching Stiles in quieter moments over the past few days, and couldn't help noticing the way his mouth twisted and his fingers flicked his phone open and closed whenever he was left alone with his thoughts. Stiles undoubtedly missed Scott, and the Sheriff, and the pack as a whole. Allison felt the same way, and she was hoping the old excitement of werewolf shenanigans would snap them both out of this depression.

On a whim Allison grabbed Stiles' hand, only regretting it for a moment before warm amber eyes met hers and she felt the familiar rush of pack, and the happiness that was pure Stiles. Neither one of them pulled away the entire way through the airport, or during the short car ride that brought them to a small vehicle-rental shop.

"We decided on a more unconventional way to roadtrip through Ibiza," Ana grinned viciously, leading them to a group of waiting fourwheelers.

"Cool," Allison managed, already throwing her leg over one, fiddling with the control and looking up with a brilliant smile when the engine came to life.

"Adrenaline junkies, the lot of you." Stiles scolded mockingly. Allison gave him a 'bitch, please' look until he cracked, face breaking into a smile as he mounted his own fourwheeler.

Santo whooped as Ana revved her engine.

_"Let's go!"_

* * *

Jackson's day also began with a phone call. A panicked phone call.

From Lydia.

"'Lo?" He grunted, fumbling for his iPhone.

_"Jackson!"_ The shriek sent him tumbling off of his bed.

"Holy shit-"

"Jackson?"

"..Lydia?"

"Yes," She snapped. Jackson rolled his eyes. Same old Lydia.

"What's up?" He groaned.

Silence. "Lyds?"

"I..have a small problem. With being at Yale." She said in a small voice.

Jackson snarled. "Are people there giving you shit? I swear to god-"

Lydia huffed a laugh. "No. When has that ever been a problem for me? The problem is..you aren't here." Her voice was a whisper now. "None of you are here."

Jackson's chest restricted, and silence stretched between them again. His mind was racing but somehow completely empty, and he couldn't think of a single word to say.

"Oh, forget it," Lydia said finally in a trembling voice, and the line went dead. Jackson stared at his phone for maybe five seconds before he knew exactly what he was going to do, and rolled out of bed, already reaching for his wallet.

* * *

Derek's day never really began, because as he couldn't bring himself to sleep, the last one never ended. However the first important thing that happened after the sun rose was Isaac having a breakdown.

The younger wolf had been pacing their base all morning, running his fingers roughly through his hair and letting out heavy, harsh sighs. Finally the troubled boy had stopped his pacing only to look up with pale, empty eyes and whisper, "I need some air." He then practically ran from the train car.

Derek had counted out two minutes before he followed after Isaac. He had tracked his packmate south through the woods and nearly into O'Malley's Auto Rental when he caught the scent. Derek's growl was nearly a groan as he turned to the pair of armed men emerging from between the trees.

"Today of all days," He muttered over his emerging fangs, before steeling himself and launching himself at the intruders.

Stiles and Allison, meanwhile, were having the time of their lives. Four-wheeling brought them to what was simply referred to in English as 'Ibiza Town', toward the south of the island. They left the fourwheelers in an indiscriminate garage and showered at the attached hostel before being led down the street by Ana and Santo to a restaurant on the waterfront for dinner. Their table at said restaurant also happened to have a view of the sunset over the water. It was, Stiles thought as he curled his arm over Allison's shoulders and gave her a lop-sided smile, quite frankly, perfect.

"What are we doing next?" Allison asked, absently sliding an arm around Stiles' waist.

"What indeed!" Santo replied cheerfully, grinning at them. He refused to say anything more, even as they left the restaurant and made their way down the waterfront. The werewolf was nearly dancing as they entered the marina and he led them to a formidable white boat with _S.S. ROSELLA_ stamped on the side.

Sailing out into the sea was peaceful after the day full of flights and fourwheeling, and Stiles and Allison merely looked on in comfortable silence for a while as Santo and Ana bickered.

"I wonder if there are sharks here," Stiles commented eventually.

"I wonder if there are other werewolves here," Allison muttered.

"I wonder if there are were-sharks here," Stiles stage-whispered mockingly, making his eyes wide.

"I guess you're gonna find out," Allison whispered back, and shoved him backwards into the water. She probably didn't count on Stiles taking her with him.

Stiles would like to say that the day as a whole was perfect, as he floated alongside the boat-the perfect midnight swim-but it just wasn't. Not when Scott should have been jumping in beside him, splashing water everywhere while Jackson pompously showed off his swim team skills and Lydia watched over them from the boat like a queen.

He was floating on his back, morosely looking up at the sky when something grabbed his ankle and yanked him under. He came to the surface with a yell, spluttering furiously, just to find Allison laughing at him. Against his will, Stiles' fury and indignation drained out of him.

"You think that's funny, huh?"

"Yup," Allison popped the 'p', with a smug smile that turned to a shriek as Stiles dove at her, taking her underwater with him. Ana eventually forced them to get back on the boat, lamenting their unruly hair and wet clothes.

When they returned to the town and arrived back at the hostel, it was well past dark. Stiles found himself being forced into one of Santo's colorful v-necks (apparently aversion to color was also a Derek thing) and a pair of his jeans. Ana fussed over his hair, which hadn't been buzzed in a while, as Allison changed into an outfit selected from the older girl's own clothes in the bathroom.

"Why can't we wear our own clothes?" Stiles dared to ask when she finally found his hair satisfactory.

"They're all dirty." She gave him a pouty look. "Werewolves have sensitive noses, you know."

It occurred to Stiles that the pair of wolves were probably doing what the pack back home did to people they liked; scent marking them. He was surprisingly okay with that, so he didn't say anything, merely sticking his tongue out at Ana as Allison emerged from the bathroom, wearing a red shirt only held up by strings that bared her entire back and jeans. Stiles was fairly sure from the smirk Santo was giving him that he stared with his mouth upon for a little while.

"'Kay, time to go have some fun." He grinned wildly, clapping his hands together.

'Fun' turned out to be a rave, managing to be even bigger and noisier than the ones that went all night at Jungle back home. Stiles may or may not have spent the entire time dancing with Allison, occasionally pulling a weird dance move to make her laugh while she pilfered drinks for them from God knows where. It was great, and Stiles was grinning uncontrollably, his brain fuzzy, by the time they left. Allison had her face buried in his side, stifling her giggles. Neither could remember for the life of them what was so funny.

Santo and Ana went into some bar across the street from where they were staying. Allison let out a soft sound of protest when Stiles made to follow and the two sat outside on the half wall fencing in the front patio, Santo and Ana eventually emerging with drinks to sit by the door. Stiles managed to befriend some people sitting there having a jam session, the way drunks can become friends with anyone, and borrowed a guitar. He sat, looking up at Allison, and for some inexplicable reason began to play a slowed-down rendition of Blink 182's "All The Small Things". It was a bit unsteady, but Stiles' voice was still good to hear; rich and deep, sending warmth spreading down Allison's spine in a way that only whiskey usually managed. It made perfect sense inside her head, with Stiles' bourbon eyes alight in the glow of the lights strung up around the bar.

Now, Allison wasn't exactly sure how she was supposed to react to Stiles Stilinski glancing up at her, crooning _"Say it ain't so, I will not go, turn the lights off, carry me home,"_ But the second he had finished screwing around with the other musicians and returned their guitar, she dragged him back across the street and up the stairs to their room. She pushed him down on the bed and climbed on top of him, planting a kiss on the corner of Stiles' mouth before tucking her head under his jaw and promptly falling asleep.

It wasn't until the next day that Stiles even remembered that he was sad.

* * *

Mid-afternoon, back in America, Jackson quickly climbed a set of stairs and made his way down a quiet hall, stopping in front of a door with '372' engraved on it in gold letters. He gave a sharp knock and waited.

Upon opening the door, Lydia stared, frozen, at Jackson with her lips parted and eyes wide. He offered her a half-smile and she leaped at him, arms and legs wrapping around Jackson like they'd been separated for years.

"Whoa," He muttered, breathing out a laugh. The extra weariness and irritability that had been plaguing Jackson for days seemed to melt away almost instantly as a sense of love and family washed over him, and his shoulders slumped as he breathed in the oh-so-familiar scent of Lydia's perfume.

When it became clear that the redhead wasn't planning on letting go, Jackson walked them backwards into the dorm room. He instantly determined the perfectly organized half as Lydia's and shifted to hold her with one arm while he drew back the covers on her bed with the other. Jackson set her down and wordlessly climbed in next to her, sliding both arms around her and resting his forehead against Lydia's collarbone.

She seemed shaky the same way she had been on the phone earlier, and though her appearance was still flawless, Jackson had noticed the wide, empty-eyed look Lydia only adopted when insomnia came calling. "Go to sleep," Jackson mumbled, and fell asleep to the sound of his bedmate's breathing slowly evening out.

Meanwhile, in Beacon Hills, Derek awoke on a hard metal table to moonlight streaming through the windows. He jolted, before recognizing Dr. Deaton's office and relaxing, only to jump again as a voice came from beside him.

"You're welcome."

Derek turned his head to the side to see a malcontent Chris Argent sitting in the very chair he had occupied many times, watching over a pack member. He tried not to panic. "What?"

"For saving your life. Six idiots in the woods almost had the great Derek Hale, what is the world coming to?" Chris said dryly, crossing his arms and fixing Derek with a glare. Derek snarled, attempting to sit up. "Wouldn't do that. Doc says you'll take all night to heal."

Derek tipped his head back, trying very hard not to groan as he remembered what he had been doing before the attack. "_Fuck_. Isaac."

Chris grunted. "Yeah, Boyd and McCall came in earlier, saying something about getting the Mahealani kid to track his phone. Kid rented a motorcycle and took off toward Oregon. They went after him." The hunter picked at a scab, sounding almost bored.

Derek narrowed his eyes at the older man. "And why, exactly, are you still here?"

Chris finally looked up. "Because you're a mess, Derek. Your entire pack is a mess. Even the human parts, believe me."

Derek set his jaw, turning his head back to glare at the ceiling. "I don't need you to tell me how to run my pack."

The Argent snorted. "I'm sure. Point is, this separation shit is unnecessary. People are always going to get hurt when hunters or werewolves are involved, and with your pack gallivanting around the world, it's only a matter of time before someone runs into one or the other. And if your pack had been here today, you would've had your head together enough to realize there were six assholes following you in the woods."

Chris got up and sauntered past Derek, pausing in the doorway. "Oh, and when you get all of them back here, for god's sake, send them off to college. Can't sit around in abandoned houses with you for the rest of their lives. And Jesus Christ, buy an apartment or something. You're a werewolf, not a drug addict. Stop squatting in the woods." He shook his head, and left.

The second the hunter was gone, Erica was meandering in the room, plopping down in the seat Chris had just vacated. She fixed Derek with a bright, amused stare.

"So," She said slowly, twisting a strand of blond hair around her finger. "Is Chris Argent your official life coach, now?"

Derek actually did groan this time, letting his head fall back on the table with a thunk. He didn't answer.


End file.
